A Father's Love
by Cainwen the Warrior
Summary: Companion piece to A Mother's Love. Cullough's thoughts on the events taking place. What were the Wraith before they became evil? PLEASE REVIEW!
1. Nightmares

**Nightmares **

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Cainwen: Man, you people are demanding reviewer! But, flattering, so pursuant to requests, Seàrlaid's POV piece "A Mother's Tale" will be paralleled by Cullough's POV of the same events in this story "A Father's Tale". All chapters will be the same time frame, approximately, and will share chapter titles and numbers. Understand though, if I am going to work my fingers to the bone writing not one but two prequels, you have to hold up your end of the bargain and **_REVIEW_**!!! Or else! I have a whole hive on my back now!!!

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"Mama!"

The sorrowful, terrified cry echoes through the halls of the hive and startles me out of sleep. Beside me, Seàrlaid is already rising and carefully getting out of our bed, trying not to wake me, though she should know by now I am a light sleeper and I can sense her worry and our child's distress.

She wraps a shawl around her slender shoulders and slips out the room, silent as a breeze.

I roll over and readjust the blankets—she has left a warm hollow in the bed, but it will soon grow cold if I do not cover it.

From the other chamber, the sound of Durhan's sobs reach my ears, as well as the quiet, reassuring voice of my wife.

Another nightmare. Durhan has always had nightmares, and this more than his other peculiarities is what frightens his mother and I. Even when he was an infant, he must have had these nightmares. He would wake us, screaming, inconsolable until he saw the rest of his brothers and sisters, or the engine room, or his mother, or I. At first we thought that he was frightened by the shadows cast in our room or frightened of being in a different room from us. But when he began to speak and tell us what frightened him, we realized it was nightmares…nightmares like no child should have. Nightmares of death and destruction…nightmares about massacres committed by wraiths on humans, nightmares of rivers of blood, of hive walls lined with decaying corpses, of battles.

We cannot understand the nightmares or why he should so suffer from them. He has never seen battle or death. As an infant he had never heard of such things. Seàrlaid believes that he had these nightmares even before he was born. In the last months of her pregnancy, she would often wake at night or be troubled during the day because her unborn child was thrashing about, was screaming in her womb—she could feel it.

Durhan has calmed down—his sobs no longer reach my ears. Seàrlaid will probably stay with him until he sleeps again and then return to bed.

Durhan is the only one of our children who has ever had nightmare like this. The older ones, of course, have all had nightmares from time to time—it is a part of growing and becoming an adult. Taking on the troubles of others, just as they must learn to erect barriers between their minds and others; they must learn what can be shared, and what cannot, and how to create barriers for those things that cannot been breached or detected.

But Durhan is barely five summers old—he should not have nightmares.


	2. A Soft Word

**A Soft Word **

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Cainwen: Aw, come on! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW!!!!!!!!!

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Seàrlaid's footfalls whisper through the corridors on her way back to bed. Durhan's cries ceased some time ago, but Seàrlaid stayed with him until he fell asleep, I am sure.

Now she returns to my side, and I can sense her worry, strong and fierce, like a brooding storm. She slips her shawl from her shoulders, and carefully climbs back into bed. I open my eyes and spread my arm across her pillow, inviting her to use me instead. She gives me her soft smile, and accepts my offer, laying her head on my chest as I embrace her. Together, as one person, we pull the covers over our bodies and wedge them into the bed so they don't float away before dawn. It seems...silly to say "during the night", for the night is almost over--there are but a few hours left until dawn, or what would be dawn if we were on a planet.

I draw my beloved closer, her voluptuous, soft hip beneath one hand, her strong shoulders under the other. Her soft, beautiful face rests on my chest, her silver hair flows like a stream of starlight over my shoulder and arm. I bend my head so I can kiss the top of her head, breathe in the intoxicating, soothing, invigorating and calming scent of my wife, my Seàrlaid. We have been traveling through the void of space for three days now, but she still smells of wildflowers and sunshine, of loam and freshly baked bread, all mingled with the sweet, soft musk of her body.

"What troubles you, beloved?" I mumble into her hair, with its soft, silvery scent...

"Durhan had another of his nightmares," she sighs quietly, and I frown. The tone in which she said this worries me almost more than the fact that Durhan had a nightmare.

"He cannot have. We were both asleep, we should have had the nightmare," my mouth answers her, though I know it is little more than a father's wishful thinking, the words of a parent whose heart desperately cries out against the suffering of his child.

"I know," she whispers, sorrow weighing leadenly on her voice, so heavily that her normally musical speech patterns have become almost monotonic. She is worried--far more worried than I have ever felt her since she had thought she had lost him before he had been born, so much pain did he cause her one night.

"What did he dream this time?" I gently pry, knowing that unless I ask, she will try to keep her worries to herself. She knows that secrets are an impossiblity between spouses, yet she tries to keep from me the things that worry her if she thinks I can do nothing about them.

"He dreamt that the warrior who stopped at the camp a few days ago had taken me to his queen and that she had killed me," she tries to state flatly, but her voice becomes choked with emotion, and we both fall silent, she trying to control the raging passions within her, I turning this over in my mind.

I know of whom it is she speaks. Several days ago now, when we were on the last planet, a wraith warrior stopped by our camp, asking for shelter and fellowship. None of our hive felt terribly comfortable granting him this, but to do so would to betray the laws of the Spirits to which we cling as our only hope of not becoming as the new hives.

And so we granted him shelter, fellowship and bread, but not a "feeding" as he so vulgarly called it. No humans had left token in the sacred grove, but it did not trouble us. Enough had come to us in the months previous that we were filled sufficient for several weeks to come, and he had obviously fed recently.

But he was not content with what we gave him. "Do you not have any humans for me to feed on?" he had asked us, as though we kept humans on hand as we kept dried fruit or water. When we rebuked him for even thinking such things, he laughed at us, telling us that if we did not abandon our "weak" ways, we would be trampled into the dust. As a hive, we agreed that the next morning he should be asked to leave.

Unfortnately, while we agreed upon this course of action, he was speaking to the children, preaching his blasphemous, horrific code of murder and incest to our children.

_"Cullough, I do not want any more warriors coming near our children," _Seàrlaid's thought gently speaks in my mind, and I respond with my consent. A small voice in the back of my mind tells me that it will do nothing to keep our children from the warriors. It is like trying to dam a river with a handful of pebbles.

And yet I consent, and silence the niggling voice which prompts me to do nothing. To do nothing would be as sinful as what the warrior wraiths and their so called "queens" do. When I at last travel to the land beyond the stars and face the Spirits to answer for my life, it will be far better to answer their question, "What did you do to stop this evil?" with "I tried" than "I did nothing, for nothing could make a difference". So long as I breathe, I _will_ try, even if I fail, for I will have done all I could to save my children, my race, and my human brothers and sisters.

Seàrlaid's breathing has slowed, but she is not yet asleep; no, she is remembering one of the stories her grandfather told her as a child.

This is good. I do not like it when Seàrlaid worries so greatly. I know that she is strong, and that to worry about all the beings of the galaxy is as much a part of her as her love for me or her incredible ability to sing.

And yet I would it were not so. Perhaps because I myself cannot think on the fates of so many peoples into so many generations over so vast a space and the many consequences and possible actions and ramifications…or perhaps because I simply would not have my beloved carry such a burden.

This is not to say that I do not worry about what is happening to our race. I am greatly troubled by it, but I find that I cannot contemplate, cannot grasp the possible fates or actions of persons I do not know, cannot touch or see, on whom I can have no direct effect. And so I worry about my family, immediate and extended.

But Seàrlaid…she is an _aoghaire _or _comhachag_—a spiritual guide, a comforter, healer, advisor. She feels the fate of many as though it were her own. Many a time, as she has lain by my side in bed or prayed in the sacred grove, she has felt the thoughts and feelings of what seems like all the beings of our galaxy, pressing in on her. It is a terrible burden, an awesome gift she has been given.

Sometimes, I wish she had not.

I push such thoughts from my mind and immerse myself into the simple act of _being_. Being here, in a warm bed with cool moist air to breath, the scent of my wife, _a Seàrlaid,_ _a __ban-chéile_.

At last, she is asleep. I kiss the top of her head once more, and hold her tightly as I allow myself to be claimed.

A/N: _aoghaire-Pastor/Sheppard; __comhachag-owl; __a Seàrlaid,_ _a __ban-chéile- my __Seàrlaid, my wife._

**REVIEW!!!**

**TBC**_  
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	3. Disturbed Sleep

_**Disturbed Sleep** _

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Cainwen: Hi People! Sorry it took so long. I was away. Don't worry though, I suffered greatly thanks to them(Points to Steve Plushie, Cullough and Seàrlaid over shoulder). Shouldn't take so long to update "A Mother's Love". PLEASE REVIEW!!!!!! Enjoy!

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_Hmm? Oh bother. Yes yes. I will be there shortly,_ I reply to the insistent telepathic nudging of Ailig. Reluctantly, I open my eyes to the soft glow of my chamber. I mentally tell the ship to dim the light, for Seàrlaid is yet sleeping, and I would not wake her yet. She has not slept as much as she should of late. Indeed, I sometimes wonder if she has slept at all for worrying.

Carefully, so as not to disturb her, I ease my beloved off my shoulder and onto a pillow. Though asleep, she frowns at the sudden coolness of her pillow, but soon enough her brow is smooth once again and her rest undisturbed.

Moving slowly, I ease myself out of bed until my bare feet touch the sticky floor. The coolness of the air against my skin causes me to shiver as I cross the floor to the washroom off our chamber. There is some little gravity now, so that as I break the surface of the water in the basin, it splashes upward in many small fluid spheres before slowly drifting downward once again.

This morning I simply wash my face and hands, running a washcloth over my chest before donning a loose linen shirt, dark tunic and long leather vest. Normally, I would bathe, but there will be time enough for that after we have safely landed.

I slip out of our chamber, silent as a breath of air, and steal down the corridors towards the engine rooms. The hive is silent save for the gentle background noise of the ship and the sounds of the others stirring, awakening to a new day.

Ailig greets me in the control room. He is a great friend and brother to me and to Seàrlaid.

"Cullough! Abed at this hour?" he greets me teasingly as we grasp each other's shoulders and touch foreheads in the familiar greeting between friends and family.

"At this hour? This hour is for the stars and the creatures of the night!" I reply jokingly. "Is all well with you?"

"Yes. Moira is very tired of late, but that is to be expected. The child she carries seems to dance whenever the stars are out."

I nod. "Hmm. Perhaps she will sleep better once we have landed and the stars are not out all day."

Ailig yawns. "This is what we hope."

"Come come Ailig, you think Moira will sleep better when gravity pulls so heavily on her?" We turn to see Niamh and Dolan come in, their newborn infant son Stiobhan in arms.

Ailig laughs. "No, but one can always hope, Niamh."

Niamh bows slightly. "You speak the truth, Ailig," She turns to me. "Cullough, could you hold Stiobhan while Dolan and I look over the engines? I would leave him with the other children but…"

"Of course," I tell her and take the sleepy infant in my arms. Under normal circumstances, the elder children are wonderful caretakers of the babes, but in the thrill of descent, even the most mature youngling will become…playful…. I can remember well my sons at this tender age. Stiobhan is tiny, fitting easily into my two hands, blanket and all. A silky, dark brown fluff covers his head, his skin a darker blue-green than it will be when he is grown. His eyes are dark to the point of black, as are all infants' eyes. He yawns with the careless abandon of a child, revealing a tiny, toothless mouth which quickly turns to a toothless grin.

"_Hàlo a Stiobhan. Ciamar a tha thu?"_ I ask him as I gently nestle him into the crook of my arm and he coos quietly, with the high, single tone of infancy.

"_Tapadh leat,_ Cullough," Dolan thanks me as he and his wife go to inspect the engines. They are a truly remarkable pair. It is unusual to have a couple who both excel at the mechanical arts, but they not only make the engines run smoothly on their own, together they can make the ship sing.

I hover over the guidance consol, making certain that the hiveship is on the correct course to land in the glade, while Stiobhan watches with wonder the bustle and glowing consoles as more of our hive pour in to help land the hiveship.

"Da!"

I turn just in time to see Durhan leap out of his mother's arms and come barreling towards me, despite the low gravity. He collides with my legs and embraces them tightly, his face turned upwards to me, beaming as though he had never had a terrifying nightmare.

"_Magainn mhath_ Durhan!" I reply, smiling at him and bending down to kiss his upturned face. "How are you this morning?"

"Good!" he chirps and begins bouncing lightly on his feet. Fortunately, the gravity is just heavy enough to hold him to the floor. "Da, can I watch? Pleeaase?"

Seàrlaid smiles tiredly at me. _Could he stay with you till we land? He wants to watch, and I fear breakfast will never be made if he is bouncing all over the __chidsin._

I return her smile. _Of course. But why are you up? You could have slept longer._

"Durhan, Da says that you may stay and watch. Go on, hop up onto one of the chairs over there," Searlaid helps our youngest son onto one of the small chairs set up out of the way near a dummy console. "Now, what are the rules in the control room?"

"Don't touch anything 'cept this, don't shout, no running," Durhan recites as his small hands begin to fiddle with the play consol.

"Good boy," Seàrlaid kisses him and ruffles his hair. _I could not sleep anymore, unless you would like to go without breakfast this morning._

_There are others to make breakfast._ I remind her.

_And if everyone shirked their duties to sleep late?_ she asks as she walks out on her way to the _chidsin. _

I shake my head.

"You see?" I whisper to Stiobhan. "Stubborn and considerate to a fault, _a Seàrlaid_."

**TBC **

**PLEASE REVIEW:) **

_Hàlo a Stiobhan. Ciamar a tha thu?--Hello Stiobhan. How are you?_

_Tapadh leat-Thank you_

_Magainn mhath--good morning_

_chidsin--kitchen_


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